Father of rosy day, No more thy clouds of incense rise; But waking flow'rs, At morning hours, Give out their sweets to meet thee in the skies.
One must not be mean with the affections; what is spent of the fund is renewed in the spending itself.
Unexpressed emotions will never die. They are buried alive and will come forth later in uglier ways.
Human beings are funny. They long to be with the person they love but refuse to admit openly. Some are afraid to show even the slightest sign of affection because of fear. Fear that their feelings may not be recognized, or even worst, returned. But one thing about human beings puzzles me the most is their conscious effort to be connected with the object of their affection even if it kills them slowly within.
We choose not randomly each other. We meet only those who already exists in our subconscious.
The aim of psychoanalysis is to relieve people of their neurotic unhappiness so that they can be normally unhappy.
One day, in retrospect, the years of struggle will strike you as the most beautiful.
You want to invent new ideas, not rules
Composers aren't daring enough. They're afraid of that sacred idol called 'common sense', which is the most dreadful thing I know - after all, it's no more than a religion founded to excuse the ubiquity of imbeciles!
When you love a song so much you have to sing, you know how you feel - it releases something in you that resonates as true, whether it's James Brown or Joni Mitchell.
I love Canada. It makes a nice hat for America. When America runs out of water, it's the first place I'll go.